I'm Fine
by quesera1
Summary: Two-shot. Maybe if he said the words enough they would start to be true. / No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop herself. Post 4x23.
1. I'm Fine

**My mind has been occupied by of millions of thoughts (all heartbreaking) about Jay's life post-Erin, and since we all know we probably won't see much any of this on the show… this is my attempt to bridge the time jump between the season 4 finale and the season 5 premiere, and basically trying to reconcile myself with a Linstead-less Chicago PD. Writing this has been therapeutic.**

 **(Sorry, this—note and story, apparently I can't shut up—is insanely long)**

* * *

Jay didn't know what to think. He excused himself from Molly's to try calling Erin. He'd been texting her all afternoon, but every message had gone unanswered. Jay would be lying if he said he wasn't worried. He tried to tell himself he was worried for her safety, but that would also be a lie. He knew she could handle herself—Erin Lindsay was the toughest cop he knew.

No, Jay was worried about what Erin's silence _meant._ Was she okay, or was she spiraling toward another breakdown? Or—somehow this was even more painful to imagine—was she sending a message that they were really and truly done? He knew they had been through a lot lately, but he honestly couldn't imagine his life without Erin in it. Things had seemed fine when they met outside the district earlier.

Straight to voicemail.

He felt like a fool as he dialed her again and again. And one more time for good measure, his fingers running along his hairline as he tried not to panic.

Still no answer.

Jay felt his back hit the brick wall as he slowly sunk to the sidewalk, scrubbing his hand across his face as he tried to keep his breathing in check.

Suddenly the box carrying his mother's ring felt like a heavy brick in his pocket.

* * *

Back inside, the gang sat at their regular table, laughing as Ruzek and Atwater argued over the facts of their latest take-down. Ruzek would exaggerate the events, only to be put in his place by his partner. They'd been so distracted by the officers' banter they didn't realize Jay hadn't come back to join them; he'd been gone for at least twenty minutes.

"He probably just took off to see Lindsay," Ruzek just shrugged, easygoing as always. For a man with such a high-stakes job, his carefree nature was often alarming. "You guys want to grab another round?"

"I don't know man. I mean, his jacket is still here."

"Look at you Kev, ready to take that detective's exam any minute, huh?" Atwater just shook his head at this partner's attempt at a joke.

"Do you guys think everything's okay? He seemed pretty out of it before." Upton added quietly. She was new, more or less an outsider to their group, so she didn't want to step on any toes. "Did anyone hear from Lindsay?"

Everyone was silent, exchanging pointed looks at each other.

Will gulped down the last of his beer, then sighed. "I guess I'll go check on him. But the next round's on you Ruzek, you cheapskate."

* * *

Will shivered as he stepped out into the cold night air, calling his brother's name. He glanced to his right and saw Jay sitting against the wall, head in his hands. "Jay? Hey bro, what's up?" Will tried to keep his voice light and breezy. "Everything okay?"

"She's not coming." The words coming from Jay's lips were so quiet Will could barely hear them over the sound of the street and the boisterous crowd inside the pub.

"Okay," Will drew out the words slowly, trying to ease his brother into his next words. "So it's been a long day. She probably just wants to sleep it off. You'll catch her tomorrow, right?"

Jay looked up at him then. In that moment, seeing the look of defeat in his little brother's eyes, Will just knew. He quickly closed the distance between them and sunk down to the pavement beside Jay. They sat in silence for a moment before Will spoke again: "What happened?"

"I just... I don't … I don't get it, I don't know. She uh… she didn't even answer." Jay's voice was soft and almost timid in his response.

"Hey man, don't worry about it. I'm sure everything's fine." Will knew that was a lie, but he didn't know what to say to Jay, didn't know the right words to ease the horrible weight of reality.

Jay leapt to his feet, reacting as though he had been stung. His face burned a deep shade of red as he shouted at his brother, "It's not fucking fine!"

The older Halstead held his hands up in defeat. "Whoa dude, relax."

"How I am supposed to fucking _relax?_ She's my _partner._ I fucking love her, Will, I _love_ her! I'm… I'm supposed to have her damn back. Why won't she just let me do that?" He spat the words out like poison.

"Like I said Jay, she has a lot going on right now," Will spoke the words carefully, "Erin probably just needs some time to herself. Why don't you come back inside? Take a load off?" He was treading in uncharted waters here; he had never seen Jay so agitated, so on edge. Truth be told, seeing his little brother looking so devastated was more painful than Will had ever anticipated.

Jay sighed as his hand danced along his hairline again. "I think… I think I'm just going to take off."

"You sure? Everyone's waiting for you inside."

"Tell them I'll see them at the district in the morning."

"Okay," Will shrugged, not really sure what else he could do or say in this moment. He was never very good in these situations. "Take it easy bro."

"Yeah, um... I'll see ya." Jay swiped his hand along the back of his neck as Will turned and headed back into the pub. He hesitated, battling against himself as he tried to figure out his next step. He knew he was in no shape to drive, and it was too cold to walk—there was no way he could follow Will inside to grab his jacket from the table, he couldn't face anyone right now. A moment later he made his decision, cracked his knuckles and hailed a cab.

* * *

Jay overpaid the driver who dropped him outside their— _her_ —apartment building. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he skipped the elevator, opting to take the stairs two at a time. His movement slowed as he approached the door to number 310. Maybe coming here was a bad idea? Would she yell at him, kick him out? Could she have relapsed? Somehow he convinced himself to slip his key into the lock and let himself inside, prepared to face whatever consequences would be waiting for him inside.

But nothing could have prepared Jay for what was waiting for him inside. Or rather, what wasn't waiting. Less astute visitors probably wouldn't have noticed anything out of the ordinary. But he was a damn detective, and a good one at that. His eyes immediately jumped around the living room, taking note of everything that was different.

Framed photographs, a few knickknacks, and even some books were missing from the shelves. Most of the band posters had been taken down. The stack of mail and paperwork that was usually haphazardly thrown on the kitchen counters was eerily absent. No jacket strewn across the back of the couch, no boots kicked off in the middle of the floor.

Jay hesitated for a moment, thinking about the last time he'd been there. When that whole mess with Abby had happened. When he packed a bag. When he'd _left_. In that instant, he knew.

She was gone.

* * *

Jay sat on the couch, motionless; his mind was racing but his body seemed to be failing him. After what felt like hours (but in reality was probably only a few minutes) he moved into the kitchen, searching the cabinets for something to drink, suddenly desperate to find a way to calm the storm brewing inside him.

But of course, there was nothing there. The cupboards were as empty as Jay felt in that moment.

His stomach lurched and suddenly he felt nauseous. He ran to the bathroom as fast as his legs could carry him. Jay found that it too was devoid of any of her usual damage; it just became too much as he fell to his knees, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Finally, when there was nothing left, he sat back against the wall, his thoughts immobilizing him once again.

Eventually he dragged himself out of the apartment that was once his home. Despite the cold, he wandered aimlessly through the streets, not sure what his next steps should be. He finally worked up the courage to look at his phone. There were several texts and missed calls—all from the guys, none from _her_.

He finally stopped to send one response, to Antonio, letting him know that he was fine and would be there soon. Jay had been staying with him for the last few nights, ever since Will had got them _both_ kicked out of Nina's place.

Jay hailed a cab for the second time that night, quickly giving the driver the address. He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, not opening them until he felt the vehicle lurch to a halt. He quickly paid the toll, let himself in the side door, and slipped into the bed in Antonio's guest room. Eyes closed, he tried to still his erratic breaths and slip away from the chaos of his consciousness.

Sleep didn't come for Jay that night.

* * *

Voight arrived at the district bright and early the following morning, as always. He gave Sergeant Platt a quick nod in greeting, marched up the stairs, and walked through the empty bullpen into his office, just like he did every morning. But this morning, he was surprised to discover he wasn't alone there. Jay Halstead was hunkered down in a chair opposite his desk, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. "Halstead? What are you—?"

"Where is she?! What did you do?!" Jay leapt from his seat and exploded the moment he recognized Voight's presence.

Though the two men were alone in the bullpen, Voight knew the others would be arriving soon, so he quickly closed the door behind himself and moved further into the office, stopping to stand in front of Jay.

"Sit down Halstead."

"No. Tell me. Tell me _right now_ , what the fuck is going on?!"

"Halstead!" Voight growled at the young detective, taking in his appearance in that moment. Jay was pacing, his hands clenched into fists, face pale and eyes red with emotion. Even Hank Voight could recognize that he was looking at a broken man; he moved his hands up to rest on Jay's shoulders, and his next words were softer, "Halstead, she's gone."

"What the hell are you talking about? What— _fuck_ , what did you do?!" Jay roared for the second time, shrugging out of Voight's hold.

"Erin's gone. She's in New York, recruited for a special unit."

"What?! Why?" Jay's disbelief quickly pivoted to blind rage. " _You_ did this! You sent her away!"

"She wasn't getting her badge back."

Jay erupted the, spitting accusation after accusation at his boss: "It's your fault! If you hadn't separated us—none of this would have happened. She would _never_ have crossed that line. _Never_. Not if I had been there. I'm supposed to have her damn back! How the hell was I supposed to do that when you split us up?" Voight's silence just spurred him on: "Are you happy now? You got what you always wanted, Erin and I as far apart as possible, no more in-house relationship. I'm sure you're just _thrilled_! This whole fucking mess is your damn fault!"

"Halstead—" Voight's bark was interrupted by a sharp knock; after a beat Olinsky opened the door: "Hey, we, uh, we caught a case."

Voight nodded, then turned back to Jay, "Halstead—can you get your head in the game here? If you can't then you can just go home. I won't have you running around out there half-cocked." It irked Voight to let Halstead's disrespectful attitude slide (God knows he'd have wrung Jay's neck for that kind of behaviour in the past), but he knew the young detective was struggling. He himself had been in that position before; losing someone he cared about had happened too often for his liking. Heck, it was happening to him again now. Contrary to Jay's accusations, the sergeant was absolutely _not_ happy with how this had all played out.

"It's—I'm—I'll be fine. I'm not going anywhere." Jay replied, surprising even himself with the calmness in his voice as he ran his right hand across his face and through his hair. He had a job to do; Jay Halstead wasn't about to let his team down—especially when Erin's absence was already leaving them short a detective.

"Okay, you're riding with O."

Jay gave his sergeant a quick nod before quickly following Olinsky out the door. He could feel the burning stares from the rest of the team, but Jay couldn't bring himself to face them. He kept his head down and just put one foot in front of the other.

Jay was silent as Olinsky drove them across town to a crime scene. They were in and out pretty quickly, taking a few witness statements before heading back out to look into a potential lead.

"You doin' okay, kid?" Alvin asked softly on their way back to the district. His words broke the long silence, hanging in the air for several minutes before Jay finally responded.

"I don't know," he spoke, surprising himself with his honesty. "How did this happen?"

"It was over for her Jay, you gotta see that. She had nothing left here."

Moments of deafening silence followed. "What about me?" Jay practically whispered. "I'm here."

The older man glanced away from the road to look over at Jay, sighing at his dejected appearance. He felt for the kid, he really did. Alvin Olinsky of all people knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved, especially lately. "You just gotta focus on the job man, like I said the other day, so many cops would kill for your spot."

"Maybe I should let them have it," Jay's statement practically came out as a question.

"Don't say that kid. You worked your ass off to get here. The team needs you. You just need to get your head in the game."

It was Jay's turn to sigh: "I just don't know how to do that Al."

"You just find a way. Work the cases, focus on the job. You just put one foot in front of the other."

 _Put one foot in front of the other_. That was really all he could do now.

* * *

Maybe he was in denial, or maybe he was just laser focused, but somehow Jay managed to hold himself together over the next few weeks. There were times when he would find himself dialing her number—it was almost second nature to him. But he would always hang up after a ring or two. The idea of actually hearing her voice? Hearing her rejection? It was just too much to bear. So he shoved all thoughts of _her_ from his mind.

Work became his life as he practically ran himself ragged. On top of the grueling hours spent working cases upstairs in Intelligence, Jay took every extra patrol shift available. He only let off the throttle when Platt told him off for hogging all the overtime hours, telling him he needed to give the rookies a chance (Jay wasn't stupid; he knew that was just Platt's way of showing she cared, of trying to get him to take it easy—and honestly he didn't have the energy to fight her on it).

It certainly helped that he had been teamed up with Olinsky. As different as they appeared to be on paper, the two men were actually very similar. Apart from their conversation that first day, they didn't speak much. They kept it all business in the field, enjoying comfortable silences in the car, and only really talked about the details of their cases.

Jay's life had become a seemingly endless cycle of working, going to the gym, and sleeping. Except he didn't actually ever sleep all that much. Truth be told he was driving Antonio crazy; as much as Antonio wanted to be there for Jay, it weirded him out to wake up in the middle of the night to see Jay furiously scrubbing his bathroom, or folding his laundry, or reorganizing his kitchen cabinets.

The rest of the team had mostly kept their distance from Jay. Ever since they'd witnessed him lose it at Voight that first morning. They had tried to include him in their post-shift gatherings at Molly's; Atwater, Ruzek and Burgess took turns asking him, all a little bit afraid of getting yelled at themselves. But Jay always turned them down. He preferred to do his drinking alone these days.

* * *

About a month after his confrontation with Voight, Jay found himself being called into the sergeant's office early one morning. Jay tensed up in anticipation of another fight; the two men had never had the best relationship, and things had been particularly strained between them lately, both walking on eggshells around each other. Conversations were limited to Voight barking orders and Jay only speaking with him to share pertinent case information.

Jay was surprised by the presence of another person in Voight's office. "Er, sorry Sarge, Ruzek told me you wanted to speak to me? Didn't realize you had company. I guess I'll come back later," Jay apologized, moving to leave the room.

"Halstead, sit," Voight commanded, motioning to the vacant seat beside the room's other occupant.

Jay fell into the chair and glanced up at his superior. "What's going on?"

Voight leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together as he spoke. "You remember Detective Hailey Upton? She was working with us while Burgess was on furlough."

"Hey, yeah, um, I was partnered with—" Upton began, glancing at him with a nervous smile.

"I know," Jay interrupted, unwilling to hear Upton say _her_ name. "I remember."

"Upton is transferring in from Robbery-Homicide. Halstead, she'll be your partner, effective immediately."

"But, what about Olins—?" Jay began; it was his turn to be interrupted.

"This assignment isn't optional Halstead. Show Upton to her desk, then have Atwater get you acquainted with the latest on the case."

"But—" Jay tried again, but Voight held up his hand, clearly not having any of it: "That's all, get to work."

Jay stood reluctantly, leading Upton out of the sergeant's office and into the bullpen. He said nothing, simply nodding his head toward the only empty desk in the room— _her_ desk. He watched Upton get herself settled out of the corner of his eye, then leaned against his own desk as Atwater began debriefing the team on a breakthrough in their current case.

"Okay, so Polansky has been grabbing girls from all over the North Side. Two of the last three known victims were found dead, but girl number three, a—Felicity Martin. Well she's at Med, in rough shape, but alive," Atwater explained. "Burgess is over there with her now. She just texted me that Felicity remembers something about a club called Detention over on Division Street."

"Kev and I are going to head that way and check things out," Ruzek added, shrugging into his jacket. "You guys, maybe check with your CIs? See what you can get out of anyone that might know that area?"

Upton nodded, "Absolutely, I'll make a few calls. I have a guy that I busted last year for casing a couple clubs. He owes me one." She sat at her new desk and immediately picked up her phone. Olinsky remained silent, but nodded at Ruzek in affirmation.

As Atwater and Ruzek headed down the stairs, Jay froze. He couldn't understand how _normal_ everyone was acting, how easily they transitioned from her to Upton. Suddenly he felt like he was suffocating in the bullpen. He turned in place, yanked his jacket from the back of his chair, and took off. He moved so quickly he didn't see the curious glance Upton directed at Olinsky, or the older man's head shaking in dismissal.

* * *

Jay honestly didn't know how he'd managed to get there, but he soon found himself parked outside Antonio's gym. His brain must have shifted into auto-pilot; he couldn't even count how many hours he'd spent there lately, channeling his frustrations into the boxing ring. The events that had destroying him emotionally were certainly beneficial to his physique.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he got out of the truck—he wasn't surprised to see that Voight was calling him. Jay shook his head and ignored the call; he was in no mood to deal with his sergeant. Instead he strode into the building, changed quickly in the locker room, and made his way to one of the many available bags. The place was eerily quiet, but it was the middle of the day, most people were at work. Hell, _Jay_ was supposed to be at work.

But none of that mattered in that moment. All he could think about was the chaos that had been spinning around him over the last few months, so he just attacked the bag, trying to find some kind of release. Every thought was punctuated with a blow to the punching bag. Abby coming back to town—packing his bags and leaving—Voight separating them—the disciplinary hearing—Bunny's drama—his mother's engagement ring—his brother's words—waiting outside Molly's—the empty apartment—fighting with Voight—Upton joining Intelligence, taking _her_ spot, taking _her_ desk—

It was all just too much.

Jay was startled by a strong hand on his shoulder, not thinking as he turned and swung again. "Hey man, what the hell!" Antonio groaned, cringing as he moved his hand up to his jaw. "It's me, take it easy."

His words snapped Jay out of his trance. He glanced at his former colleague, his friend, his roommate of late, suddenly feeling like even more of an ass, "Tony, I'm— _shit_ man, I'm so sorry! I didn't—"

Antonio just shook his head and told Jay he had nothing to apologize for, that they were cool. "But Jay, it's the middle of the day, aren't you on shift?"

Jay ran his hand across his forehead as he whispered his confession. "I just, I just had to get out of there. I couldn't be there. I couldn't _breathe_ there."

Antonio knew the man standing in front of him was a soldier, a fighter. He knew he had faced torture both in Afghanistan and back here in Chicago. He knew that Jay was struggling with _emotional_ torture now. What he didn't know was how to help him. "What can I do Jay, what do you need from me? Do you need me to call Voight? Do you need to take some furlough?"

Again the words snapped Jay to attention. He shook off the panic that had been rising, and pulled the mask of strength and bravery back over his face. "I'm good man, I'm fine. Sorry about that, I don't know what happened there. I must have just been in the zone or something!" He forced a smirk on his face, "Looks like you're not quite in your fighting shape these days, huh? Things getting all cushy at the State's Attorney's office?"

Antonio hesitated for a moment, as though trying to decide whether to press the issue with Jay. He opted to let it go for the time being, and instead just shook his head and laughed, "Yeah right man, very funny! I'll remind you that I kicked your ass left and right when you first started coming around here. And I could do it again in a heartbeat, don't you forget it!" He paused before continuing, "You should probably get back to the district though, or it'll be Voight kicking your ass."

Jay nodded. He clapped his hand around Antonio's back in a quick hug as he moved to leave, "I'll catch you later man." Antonio nodded in response, watching as Jay strode toward the exit. At the last moment, Jay turned and looked back at him: "I really am sorry." Again, Antonio just gave him a nod, motioning to Jay to get out of there and back to work.

* * *

Antonio must have called and said something to Voight, because—much to Jay's surprise—he wasn't reamed out when he returned to the district. As he slumped down into his desk chair, he could feel Voight's eyes on him, but no words were spoken in that moment.

Jay spent the rest of shift reaching out to his CIs, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. They didn't bother asking him to Molly's tonight. Jay didn't mind, it saved him the effort of declining again. Instead Jay headed to the sketchy bar near his old apartment. If the situation weren't so fucked up he'd probably have found humour in the fact that his old hangout had suddenly become his new hangout.

When he arrived back at Antonio's that night—he'd knocked back more than his fair share—it was late. After midnight, closing in on one o'clock. So Jay was surprised to find Antonio sitting up on the couch, seemingly waiting for him.

"Tony? What—what're you doing… up?" Jay's words slurred from his lips. He was wasted. Again.

Antonio pretended not to notice Jay nearly tripping over his own feet as he stumbled into the living room. "Jay, are you okay?" He knew the answer was no, so he plowed ahead, "I know you're hurting man, I get it, I really do. But you're going to need to find a way to move past this."

"Move past what? I'm fine, everything's fine," Jay was lying. He was getting good at that lately.

"You're not fine, and I get that. I'm here for you brother, whatever you need," Antonio paused. "But Jay, you really need to get yourself together."

"Like I said, _I'm fine_!" But Jay's voice betrayed him, growing louder and more agitated.

"You're not Jay. You can't keep going like this man."

"Fine, I'll get out of your hair then! I'll be out by tomorrow!"

"No Jay, that's not wh—"

"It's done; I'll be gone before you get home tomorrow night." With that final declaration, Jay stormed off to his bedroom, slamming the door behind himself.

As luck—if you could call it that—would have it, Jay's old apartment was up for rent again. He signed the paperwork on his lunch break the next day, and headed right there after shift. The place came furnished, which was certainly a blessing. Most of Jay's old stuff had been donated; he hadn't needed it when had moved in with _her_.

* * *

In the weeks following his near-breakdown at the gym and his fight with Antonio, Jay changed. Though he was still focused on the job, he had become less removed from his colleagues and friends. He was trying to get over things, to move past it. The challenges he had faced during his life had helped Jay to develop an impressive ability to hide his true feelings, to bury it all away and appear the picture of strength. But it was all a mask.

He hadn't had a proper night's sleep in God knows how long. It had just been so hard to fall asleep alone. Before she left he always figured they would find their way back to each other. It had given him hope: something to hold on to and focus on as he worked through his PTSD. But now... knowing she was gone and gone for good? Jay spent his nights one of three ways. Tossing and turning in his bed. Drinking himself into oblivion. Or finding other ways to numb himself.

Ruzek burst into the locker room at the end of shift, just as Jay was gathering his stuff to head home for the night. "Halstead, hey man! Whatcha up to tonight?" If Ruzek noticed the sullen look on Jay's face, he just ignored it. "Come out with me and Atwater! One of the nurses over at Med mentioned a club night, it'll be fun. You can be my wing man."

"What would Burgess think of that?" Jay smirked, momentarily forgetting about the mess of his own life. Somehow Ruzek's ignorance made it easy to shift his feelings deeper into the back of his mind. Jay honestly didn't know how Ruzek made it through shift some days without someone clocking him.

"Well, she—I don't know. We aren't really anything right now dude." Ruzek chuckled, tugging nervously on his collar. "Figure I might as well live it up. Come on man, I'm sure you could use a night out! Take your mind off things?"

Jay sighed for what was probably the hundredth time that day. What could it hurt? He'd have a few drinks, he could laugh at Ruzek making an ass of himself, maybe he could actually forget about his own fucked up life for a little while.

"Sure, why not." Jay just laughed as Ruzek launched into a happy dance at his words. "That's great man, you'll be a way better wing man than Kev's been lately. The man's totally hung up on Upton these days, he's like a schoolgirl with a crush. He say anything to you about it?"

Forcing a small smile on his face at the thought of a lovesick Atwater, Jay shook his head. No one had really been talking to him much. He had certainly been making more of an effort lately, but they were still anxious around him, unsure of what to say or how to act in his presence.

"Well Kev's into her. Goes on and on trying to decide if he should make a move or not. I told him he's crazy, why would he want to start something up in-house, y'know? I mean, look how that turned out for Burgess and me, and you and—" Ruzek stopped, suddenly realizing he was putting his foot in his mouth, as usual. "I mean, uh. Forget about that man. I, uh—sorry."

Again, Jay forced a smile. "It's fine Ruzek, I'm fine." Maybe if he said the words enough they would start to be true. "What time tonight?"

"You're still in?" He'd been worried that his asinine remarks would send Jay running in the other direction. Ruzek grinned from ear to ear when Jay nodded in agreement. "Cool man. See you at eight. I'll text you the address. It'll be great!"

* * *

Jay met up with Ruzek and Atwater in front of the club at eight o'clock sharp. They were bumped up to the front of the line, no thanks to Ruzek's embarrassing attempt at schmoozing the bouncer (it turned out he was an old friend of Atwater's). Jay was uncomfortable; nightclubs weren't exactly his scene. He stayed back with Atwater, standing alongside the bar and watching Ruzek bounce around with the ladies.

"Halstead?" Atwater nudged his companion's arm. "You with me?"

"What?" Jay's mind had started to wander, thinking back to the last time he'd been in a nightclub, when they were investigating Kim's sister's assault. He remembered sitting at the bar, looking over at _her_ —back when he had foolishly thought they were just on a break, not broken up. "Oh, right, sorry man, what? Uh, what—what were you saying?"

"It's okay," Atwater laughed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I was just curious if Upton's said anything to you at all?"

"No, uh, not really, we haven't talked much." Truth be told Jay had been an ass to his new partner. He brushed her off whenever she tried to make small talk in the car, avoided eye contact with her, and basically pretended she didn't exist whenever possible. While he had really tried to tear down the walls he'd built up between himself and his colleagues, he was having a particularly difficult time doing the same with Upton. He knew he was treating her unfairly—it wasn't Upton's fault; she just took a job, she didn't make _her_ leave.

"Gotcha, okay cool. Do you, uh, do you think it would be weird if I asked her out?"

"Well man, I'm not exactly the right person to ask about that kind of thing," Jay smiled sadly. "But you know, if I could go back and do things differently? Well, I'd do it all over again. So I say you go for it Kev." He clapped his hand against Atwater's shoulder, smiling a little brighter at his friend.

"Cool man, alright. I think maybe I will, thanks brother." Atwater clinked his beer bottle with Jay's. "Now what are we going to do about this kid?" He laughed, nodding toward Ruzek's antics on the dance floor.

* * *

After a few more beers Jay loosened up a bit; he felt like the weight of reality was slowly being lifted from his shoulders. Atwater had stopped and switched to Pepsi; Jay knew he should probably follow suit. He ordered the hard stuff instead, ignoring Atwater's questioning gaze as he knocked back the shots at record speed. "Halstead, you good man?"

"I'm great!" Jay proclaimed, much louder than intended. "In fact—I think I'm gonna go dance!"

Atwater rolled his eyes as he slipped his phone from his pocket to keep himself occupied. It wasn't long before he was interrupted by a nudge to his shoulder. He was surprised to see Ruzek looking back at him with an odd look in his eye. "Ruzek? What's going on brother?" Ruzek didn't speak, just turned and nodded toward the dance floor; Atwater followed his gaze.

Neither of them knew what to say or do. Jay was in the middle of the dance floor with a girl hanging off of him. Or maybe he was hanging off of her? Regardless, they were all over each other, lips and hands were roaming everywhere; it looked like they were mere minutes away from putting on a live show.

"Uh, Kev, what do we do?" Ruzek mumbled, feeling more than a little uncomfortable with the situation.

"I uh, um… I don't… I don't know. I guess we should probably, I don't know, stop him?" Atwater stammered in response, his words coming out as a question.

"Okay, after you," Ruzek agreed, motioning for Atwater to lead the way.

"No sir, you go do it." The two men raised their eyebrows at each other, immediately launching into a game of rock-paper-scissors to see which of them would be the one to interrupt Jay. Of course Ruzek lost, sighing dramatically as he started moving toward the dance floor. Atwater shook his head before following closely behind his partner. With Jay being so on edge lately, Atwater had no idea how he would react, and figured Ruzek might need some backup.

"What the—? Dammit!" Jay spat when he felt a gentle tug on his right bicep. He reluctantly pried himself away from his new friend, glaring at the interruption. "Ruzek, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Hey man, don't you think... isn't it maybe time to head out?" Ruzek gnawed on his lower lip, his nerves getting the better of him.

If looks could kill, Ruzek would be dead from the way Jay glared at him. Jay cleared his throat and spoke again: "I'm uh, I'm a little busy here." He motioned at the girl; she was still pawing at him.

"Halstead, brother, you're drunk, beyond drunk actually, I don't... I'm not sure you know what you're doing right now," Atwater offered.

Jay turned to him with a look of betrayal in his eyes. "Well pardon me, _brother_ , but I'm a grown ass man, I think I know what the fuck I'm doing here!"

"Come on man, we should get going," Ruzek reached out and pulled on Jay's arm for a second time. Jay's body reacted before his brain as he swung at his friend in a moment of uncontrollable anger. Ruzek groaned and moved his hand up to his eye, spewing expletives and crying out in pain. Atwater noticed a couple of bouncers heading in their direction; he grabbed both of Jay's arms and pulled him back. "Halstead, we're out of here. Let's go."

* * *

Jay woke the next morning with a killer headache and a throbbing pain in his right hand. He noticed his knuckles were swollen— _did he get into a fight_? He swiped his left palm across his face, rubbing some of the sleep from his eyes before surveying his surroundings. He wasn't sure where he was— _did he go home with someone_?

It wasn't the first time Jay had found himself in an unfamiliar apartment with no memory of how he'd spent his night.

Once his eyes had adjusted, Jay took a closer look at his surroundings. The bedroom was dimly lit, the only light coming from the gaps between the curtains. There were candles littering most of the surfaces, and a vase of flowers was positioned prominently on the bedside table—there was no doubt that this was a woman's apartment.

His investigation was interrupted by the notification alert buzzing on his phone. As Jay felt for the offending device in his pocket, he quickly realized he wasn't wearing any clothes. Naked. In a woman's apartment. With no recollection of the previous night. He had definitely gone home with someone. Feeling a familiar panic rising in his chest, Jay picked his clothes up off of the floor and dressed faster than ever before. He fled the apartment without so much as a glance back—Intelligence had caught a crime scene.

* * *

As soon as Jay pulled up to the scene he noticed Voight beckoning him over to where he stood with Olinsky, both men seemingly oblivious to the chaos around them. They filled him in on the situation: the Latin Kings had just escalated their ongoing feud with the Gangster Disciples. Eight bodies had already dropped—two of which were just innocent little kids on their way to school, just got in the crossfire—and a ninth had been rushed over to Med.

"I've already got Ruzek and Atwater canvasing the area, and Upton took Burgess to chase our only lead," Voight barked. "Al and I will finish up here—Halstead, I want you at Med when that banger wakes up, we need his statement."

"Sure thing Sarge," Jay nodded, shoving his hands into his jacket pocket as he headed back to the truck. It was just his luck that they'd hit a huge case when he was suffering from what felt like the worst hangover of his life. He popped an aspirin on the drive over to Med, hoping it would quell his killer headache.

* * *

The ED was beyond chaotic when Jay arrived; the flu had been going around the entire city, a fight had broken out at a local coffee shop, and to top it off there had been a five-car pileup nearby. Maggie directed Jay to Trauma 2, where Dr. Choi was working on their shooting victim.

Jay nodded in greeting at the patrolman outside before entering the room and addressing Choi. "Hey Ethan, how's he doing?" It was probably a stupid question considering the kid had been shot.

"Jay, hi," Choi replied as he looked up at the detective. "We managed to control the bleeding for now, but we had him scheduled for surgery later today, as soon as we have an OR available. We gave him a sedative, so he might be a little drowsy, but you're welcome to talk to him."

"Thanks," Jay patted Choi's shoulder as the doctor left him alone to ask the victim a few questions. The kid was resistant at first, but when Jay told him that they thought his mother might be in danger too (not entirely true, but the kid would never know the difference) he was quick to give up the whereabouts of some bigger players.

Jay was on his way out, texting Voight with an update when he felt a hand grasp his forearm, and a familiar voice murmuring his name. "Nat? What's up?"

"I'm sure you're busy with this case, but I just wanted to catch you quickly. You left this at my place," Natalie handed Jay the black button-down shirt that he had been wearing the night before.

"Wha—?" Jay's sputtered response was interrupted by the frantic beeping of Natalie's pager. "Gotta run. I'll catch up with you later!"

With that, Natalie dashed back inside toward one of the trauma rooms, leaving a dumbfounded Jay Halstead standing outside the hospital entrance. _What had he done_?

* * *

Burgess and Upton's lead had panned out, and a few of the witnesses that Ruzek and Atwater spoke with corroborated the statement from the surviving victim. Quick development on the case meant Jay hadn't had time to process what had happened over at Med. Their investigation had zeroed in on a warehouse near 119th and State; they vested up and headed out to raid the place. Upton was driving, Jay silent. As usual.

Jay took advantage of the thirty-minute drive from the district, trying to rustle up some memory of what had happened the night before. Things had moved so fast on the case, he hadn't even seen Atwater or Ruzek yet, let alone had a chance to talk to either of them.

The last thing Jay could remember was sitting at the bar talking to Atwater about Upton. Somehow he had gone from that moment to sleeping with his brother's... whatever Will and Natalie were these days. Just when Jay thought his life couldn't get any more fucked up.

How was he supposed to face Will? The Halstead brothers had worked hard at rebuilding their relationship recently; things had been strained between them since they were in high school. Will had always been a bit of a party boy, the rebel of the family—yet somehow he could do no wrong in their father's eyes. Jay on the other hand? He kept his nose to the grindstone and worked his ass off to get where he wanted to be in life; yet his father seemed more disappointed than ever when his younger son enlisted. Then their mother got sick and Will disappeared. Pat Halstead similarly panicked, leaving Jay on his own to take care of his mother at the end of her life. When Will came back to Chicago a few years ago they agreed to put the past in the past and really try to be there for each other. Jay had forgiven Will for running off and not stepping up, but there was no way Will would ever be able to forgive him for _this_.

Though he had done his best to keep his brain focused on the job lately, Jay allowed himself just one second to think about _her_. What would he have done if the tables had been turned? If Will had made a move on his girl? Jay didn't even need a whole second to know the answer to that question. He would have destroyed Will; he'd have destroyed _anyone_ who so much as laid a finger on that woman. Will was going to kill him. Jay knew it.

Jay had never thought of himself as a bad person. He faced the demons he brought home with him from Afghanistan; it took time, but he learned to cope with and ultimately accept that while he had certainly done some awful things, he had done them for the right reasons. He had made peace with that as part of his own moral code; he'd grown to understand that things weren't always as black and white as he had believed, ultimately accepting those shades of grey in his history. But what kind of man knowingly sleeps with the woman his brother loves? No shades of grey here—the worst kind.

"Halstead," Upton pulled his attention away from his thoughts of self-loathing. He nodded and followed his partner toward the building.

The warehouse had been condemned earlier that year, due to be demolished in just a few days. All roads led to the instigators being holed up there, probably plotting their next move. Voight gave them a quick run-down of the building layout. He directed Atwater, Burgess and Ruzek (sporting a black eye, much to Jay's surprise) to hit the front entrance, while Upton and Jay took the back with Olinsky and Voight. SWAT would be there soon with reinforcements, but they couldn't wait for that. Jay kicked down the back door and moved to the left with Upton on his six; Voight and Olinsky started in the opposite direction.

They cleared the first couple of rooms, and slowly approached a third. Jay turned back toward Upton, pointing to his eye to indicate that he heard voices up ahead of them. She nodded and whispered, "I'll radio for back-up." It was Jay's turn to nod in agreement; they held back and ducked to the side.

Moments later the voices amplified; Jay could make out two distinct voices, and it sounded like there was a third in distress. Whatever was going down at this warehouse was happening fast. Before Upton could even process what was happening, Jay started to move toward the commotion ahead. "Halstead!" Upton hissed as she reached to pull him back. "Stop! We need to wait, to follow protocol!" He shrugged out of his partner's grasp and pressed forward. Upton hesitated for a split second trying to decide how she should proceed; she radioed Voight and Olinsky to hurry, then followed Jay into the room.

Everything happened at once. The bangers must have heard them approaching, because by the time Jay breached the room one of the men had his weapon raised toward him. A second was holding a kid, his gun held steady against his head. The boy couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old.

If things had been moving quickly before, they were happening at warp speed in that moment. Jay felt a rush of adrenaline as he aimed his weapon at the second guy; he didn't hesitate as he took the kill shot. Unfortunately, Jay didn't anticipate how quickly the first banger would react; just as he moved to pull the trigger another shot rang out, and a bullet flew in his direction.

The shot nicked Jay's left arm; fortunately, Upton had acted quickly, taking down the assailant with a hit to his kneecap. But both were surprised when the teenager yanked a gun from his pants and starting shooting a them as well. Before Jay could try to further defuse the situation, the kid pulled his trigger. Again, Upton was faster to respond, her shot landing squarely in the kid's neck. She moved across the room to restrain the surviving assailant, while Jay threw his palm over the neck wound in an effort to stop the kid from bleeding out.

"Halstead, what the hell was that?!" Upton hissed as she shoved the perp against the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back. He didn't speak, didn't move from his position, didn't even acknowledge that he had heard her. "Jay!" Upton shouted his name just as Voight and Olinsky entered the room, guns raised.

They quickly holstered their weapons and split up to assist the two younger detectives: Voight moved to Upton's side, while Olinsky approached Jay.

"Jay, you okay kid?" Olinsky spoke the words even more softly than usual. He had caught a strange look in Jay's eye; it was as though Jay had been hypnotised, every ounce of energy in his body and mind was focused on the kid bleeding out in front him. It was a look he himself knew all too well from his days with the Special Response Team in Italy. Though he considered that practically another lifetime ago, he understood that those same feelings often came flooding back in moments like this. "Hey, Jay, let me take over." Olinsky gently grasped Jay's hand and pulled it back, hastily replacing it with his own. For a second it looked as though Jay was readying himself to fight him, but the moment passed quickly and he just fell to his knees and froze in place.

"He was hit," Upton offered as she hoisted the handcuffed shooter to his feet. The rest of the team had just breached the room, so she passed him off to Ruzek and Atwater to take out to the paramedics that would be on scene any moment.

Voight strode across the room to Jay's side, "Halstead?" He reached to grab hold of Jay's injured arm.

"I'm fine," Jay snapped, flinching as he pulled his arm from Voight's reach.

"You took a bullet," Upton argued, folding her arms across her chest as she gave him a pointed look.

"Upton, take Halstead to Med to get checked out, will you?" Although Voight worded it as a question, his tone suggested there was no room for argument. Jay, feeling particularly obstinate, chose to ignore that: "Dammit I _said_ , I'M FINE! Let's get back to the station and throw this asshole in the fucking cage."

Voight's menacing words made things crystal clear: "Halstead, you're not fine. You were reckless and got yourself shot in the process. You're damn lucky nothing worse happened back there! You get your ass to Med right now, or you won't be coming back to the station at all." Jay glared at his sergeant for a moment before stalking off to the car; Upton pulled a face before following close behind him. Once they were settled in their car, Jay rested his head in his hand and kept his eyes focused out the window, ignoring Upton's gaze burning in his direction. Not a single word was shared between the partners as they made their way across town to Med.

* * *

"Detective Halstead, didn't think we'd be seeing you back here so soon!" Maggie gave him a reassuring smile while she ushered Jay into an open exam room. He simply grunted in response, keeping his head down as he flopped onto the bed in a heap of frustration. Upton shot Maggie a look of apology on behalf of her partner, adding a quick thank you before the charge nurse exited the room.

"You can leave now too," Jay snarled, his face red with rage. He didn't need to be there, but more than that he didn't _want_ to be there.

"You're my partner," came Upton's matter-of-fact reply. "I'm staying."

"Jesus Christ Upton, get the fuck out of here!"

In an effort to diffuse the tense situation, she acquiesced, moving to follow in Maggie's direction. She hesitated briefly at the door, "You're not fine Halstead." With that whispered contradiction to his earlier words, Upton departed.

Not two minutes later, none other than Will Halstead marched into the exam room. Jay felt like all the oxygen in the room vanished in his presence. He knew he would have to face Will eventually, but Jay certainly didn't expect the interaction to happen so soon.

"Jay?" Will was clearly surprised to see him in the ED. Jay mumbled a quick hello, not able to even look at his brother. Will grabbed Jay's left bicep and hastily checked over the injured area. "Uh, looks like it's just a flesh wound. I'll send one of the med students in to stitch you up, I've gotta run."

The med student was slow to work, but Jay couldn't bring himself to care. His body felt paralyzed as his mind frantically ran through the day's events, from waking up at Natalie's place that morning to his interaction with Will moments earlier. Clearly Will knew something, it was as though he saw Jay there and couldn't leave the exam room fast enough.

Just as the student finished sewing him up and exited the room, Natalie strode in. She shut the door behind herself, leaning up against it with a loud sigh. Jay felt more uncomfortable than he'd been in his entire life as he studied the woman standing in front of him, unsure of what to say or do. Finally, he spoke: "Um, so…"

It was as though Jay's words work Natalie up; suddenly words were pouring from her mouth as she started pacing back and forth in front of the closed door. "Jay, what is the matter with you? Will is freaking out. And now you got shot? I just… I want to help you but I don't know what to do."

"I feel like you've probably done enough here." Jay bit back at her accusingly, shooting daggers with his eyes as he spoke.

"Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean Jay?"

"It means of course Will is freaking out. We spent the night together, I wouldn't exactly blame him if he never wanted to see _either_ of us again"

"Wait, what?" Natalie stopped in her tracks and looked directly at him, her face blanketed with confusion. "What are you _talking_ about? Spent the night?" She paused again, giving herself time to process his words. "Wait, you think something _happened_ between us last night?"

"It didn't?"

Natalie actually laughed at the shocked look on his face. "Aren't you supposed to be a detective?"

"Wha—? But… wait… nothing happened?" Now Jay was confused. "I was drinking. A lot. And then I woke up in your bed. I was… I wasn't wearing anything. So I just—"

"You're even more of an idiot than I thought Jay." She shook her head, chuckling again. "First of all, that wasn't _my_ bed. That was my spare bedroom. Your sorry ass was such a mess last night the guys called Will to come and pick you up. And hello, that's why Will so uncomfortable around you today—he didn't exactly expect to have to drag his drunk-off-his-ass brother home from a nightclub on a Thursday night."

Jay was flabbergasted as he took in all of this information. "Wait, that doesn't explain where my clothes went? Did Will strip me or something?"

Natalie rolled her eyes. She'd been through a lot in her life, and liked to think she could handle anything that was sent her way. But dealing with the Halstead brothers? Well that was something else entirely. "From what I heard you did that all by yourself. Like I said, you were a _mess_." Natalie took a few steps closer until she was standing directly in front of Jay; she reached her arms out to rest on his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye as she continued, "Jay, Will is really worried about you. We all are. He's been talking Antonio and the other guys. We all care about you, we all just want to help you get through this."

And like a switch had been flipped, Jay yanked himself away from her and reverted back to his tired defense: "And I keep telling everyone, _I'm fine_."

"You're not fine Jay, believe me, you're not. I know what you're going through right now, I understand how hard it is. But you can't keep going like this, Er—"

"Don't you dare say her name."

Natalie sighed again. "If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine, I get it. But you need to talk to someone, you _need_ to work through this. Like I said Jay, I know exactly what it feels like to lose somebody you love. It's the worst feeling in the world knowing that they're gone, but you can't just lay down and give up and throw your life away. That won't do anybody any good. So stop lying to yourself and to everyone else. You're not fine, but I think you can be." And with that, she left, not looking back.

Jay left the exam room and found Upton waiting right outside. She rose from her chair and led him to the parking lot. Their drive back to the district was so quiet you could practically hear the thoughts racing through Jay's head.

* * *

The day's earlier events had put Intelligence at an impasse on the case. There were no new leads: the teenaged victim from the warehouse raid had flat lined on the way to the hospital, and the lone survivor had lawyered up, refusing to talk to any of them. At that point it was a waiting game: waiting for ASA Kot to negotiate a deal, waiting for more gunfire, waiting for more people to die. It was beyond frustrating for the entire unit, but Jay was feeling especially agitated, evidenced in the way he swiped his hand back and forth along his hairline.

"So let me get this straight— _ten_ bodies have dropped since this morning, two of which were innocent kids, and we're just supposed to sit around on our asses and not doing a damn thing about it?"

"Halstead!" Voight rasped in annoyance. "No one here is happy about this situation. We all want to get these guys—"

"Really? Cuz look around this room, it sure doesn't look like anyone's too broken up about it" Jay snapped back at him, gesticulating wildly around the bullpen. He moved closer to the board, slamming his right palm beside the photos of the day's youngest casualties. "These kids were walking to school and those scumbags _killed them_. They deserve some damn justice! This is just fucking _ridiculous_!" Jay stormed down the stairs before anyone could respond.

He retreated to the locker room, the need for solitude practically strangling him. His breathing was erratic as he paced anxiously in front of his locker, finally opening it to see the velvet box containing his mother's ring staring back at him, taunting him. Jay had stashed the box there that first morning after she left; he hadn't been able to think about it, let alone face it since. He was fighting an overwhelming urge to chuck that damn box across the room when he heard the door open.

When he looked up and recognized the intruder he lost whatever semblance of self-control had remained: "Fuck off Upton!" Jay knew he was being complete jackass, but in that moment he no longer cared.

Upton ignored his words, instead taking a few steps toward to her partner before speaking firmly: "No."

Jay slammed his right fist into the locker door; Upton flinched at the sound, but still moved closer to him. "Dammit just leave! Leave me alone!"

"Are you going to hit me like you hit Ruzek?" Upton could see the look of shock and horror flash across his face when his head turned in her direction. "I'm kidding. Well, you did hit him, but I can't entirely blame you for that, I've been close to clocking him myself sometimes." Her attempt at a joke fell flat; Jay's mind was occupied with the realization of just how awful he had been. "Halstead—" she paused before trying a different tact, "Jay—"

"I'm fi—"

Upton held her hand up, stopping him from continuing. "Don't even try that again. You're not fine. Do you, I don't know, do you want me to talk to Voight? See about splitting us up, getting you partnered with someone else?"

Jay paused for a moment. He may have been _acting_ like an idiot, but he certainly wasn't stupid. Of course he wasn't fine. His personal life was in shambles, and now it was affecting his job. Maybe it was time he finally took Natalie's words to heart.

Mistaking Jay's silence as him ignoring her again, Upton continued. "I know that you've been through a lot in your life. And I know you're going through a rough time right now... But I'm your partner. It's my _job_ to have your back. You need to let me do that."

"I'm sorry." Jay croaked. His admission caught Upton by surprise, her head jerking up to look at him. After a beat, her mouth turned upward with a reassuring smile, "It's okay."

"No. No it's not. I'm a fucking mess," Jay fell backwards to sit on the bench, hunching over with his elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hands. He was the picture of a broken man.

Upton tentatively sat down beside him. "Jay, I know you and Lin—" she stopped before uttering her name, somehow understanding that Jay wasn't ready to hear it, especially coming from her lips. "I know you guys had a great partnership. But I can be a great partner too, if you'll let me. Please, just let me."

It was several minutes before another word was spoken, they just sat side-by-side in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Jay needed time to let his partner's words sink in, and she didn't want to upset him more than he already was.

When Jay finally glanced at the woman beside him, his mouth fell into a devilish smirk. "Sooooo, I take it you've been talking to Kev lately?"

"Maybe a little?" Upton couldn't hide the flush of pink in her cheeks.

Jay laughed for real for the first time in what felt like an eternity. "Seriously though, I really am sorry—for being a dick, for being a terrible partner, for treating you like shit. I don't want to switch partners, you're great, I swear. I promise I'll work harder to be the partner that you deserve."

"Thank you, I appreciate that," Upton grinned as she playfully bumped her shoulder against Jay's. "And I'm serious too, I'm here to have your back. Out there and in here, whenever. Not only am I a great partner, but I can be a great friend too."

"Thanks Hailey." Jay rose from his seat and shuffled awkwardly for a moment, his fingers moving back up to his hairline. "I guess I better get back upstairs and face the music, huh?"

"Actually, I uh, I talked to Voight," Upton pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "He's going to pretend your little outburst didn't happen. So go home, take a load off. I'll finish up your paperwork."

Jay repeated his words of thanks, hesitantly pulling his partner into a quick hug before turning to exit the locker room, feeling lighter than he had in months.

* * *

His heart-to-heart with Upton had really been a turning point in Jay's healing process; and from the outside looking in he seemed to be back to his old self. And for the most part he was—at least he was trying to be. There were still days where all he wanted to do was hibernate at his apartment or drink himself into numbness. But Jay was doing his best to push past those feelings, leaning on his friends as much as his pride would allow him to.

It had certainly helped to have Antonio back with the unit; his stint at the State's Attorney's office had never felt like home to him, so he'd jumped at the opportunity to rejoin his family in Intelligence. Jay could definitely appreciate that sentiment, now more than ever; that same family had become Jay's support system. He could state without hesitation that he would not be where he was without them.

Jay had been working hard at finding new ways to spend his free time, channeling his personal demons into outlets that were more positive than drinking or stirring up trouble. He'd started golfing with Antonio, enjoyed epic video game marathons with Ruzek, and—unintentionally—played third wheel on a few of Upton and Atwater's dates. Olinsky and Voight had even taken him to the club one night (it was incredibly strange to be there; Jay had vowed never to return).

Things were really starting to feel normal again. Yes, it was certainly a new normal, but normal all the same.

So when Burgess approached him one evening and asked him to grab breakfast with her the next day, Jay didn't hesitate to accept her invitation. He would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't nervous about it though. Sure, Jay got along well enough with Burgess, but the female officer had always been better friends with _her_. In fact, if he really thought about it, Jay didn't think he had ever actually spent any one-on-one time with Burgess before.

He arrived at the diner early, so he was surprised to find her waiting for him, already seated at a table by the window. He tentatively slid into the booth, offering up a quick greeting, "Morning Kim."

"Hey Jay," Burgess began softly. It became obvious that she was feeling just as nervous about this as he was.

Jay grinned, trying to put her at ease. "What's up?"

"Yeah, uh… well, I—" her rambling was interrupted by the waitress stopping by to fill their coffee cups and take their orders: pancakes and bacon for Burgess, dry toast and oatmeal for Jay.

"So…?" Jay pressed, suddenly feeling awkward. He had to admit he was curious of the reason for this meeting.

"Yeah, sorry. So I, um, I guess really just wanted to check in with you, see how you were doing?"

In that moment Jay understood why Burgess had asked him there. It took every ounce of strength Jay had to stop himself from jumping from his seat and storming out of the diner right then and there. "Excuse me?"

"How… how are you doing?"

"This isn't you asking, is it?" He already knew the answer to that. Because Burgess saw him every day, she interacted with him every day—of course she already knew how he was doing.

Burgess' face turned a brilliant shade of red as she blushed and bit at her lip, clearly uncomfortable with where this was headed. "Um… I, uh…"

"That's really what this is, right?!" Jay was so upset he couldn't prevent his voice from amplifying. "You're here to dig up dirt on me, to what, Report back to her?!"

"No! I, um…" Jay rolled his eyes; she was a _terrible_ liar. He stood and yanked his wallet from his back pocket, grabbing a few bills to pay for the food that he had no longer intended to stay to eat. Burgess surprised them both when she reached out and grabbed his wrist to stop him from leaving. Jay had to admit he was impressed with her tenacity. "Jay, please, just sit down?"

Jay glared at her.

"Please? I just want to talk to you." When Jay finally conceded and settled back into his seat, she spoke again. "I'm sorry, I don't want you to think I'm trying to pull a fast one on you or anything like that. I am genuinely concerned, please?"

Jay exhaled loudly, trying to blow all the frustration from his body in one breath. "I'm fine Kim. Or at least I'm trying to be." He sighed again. "I've been doing better lately, but still… my life has never been this much of a mess before, not even when I got home from—so yeah, I'm struggling right now. I'm working on it, but it's definitely not easy. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear that, right?" He couldn't help the bitterness that accompanied his question.

"Jay, really, that's… that's not what this is about," Burgess murmured as she ran a hand through her hair, trying not to let her nerves get the best of her. "Look, I'm not going to lie to you, I've been in touch with her a bit lately, just a few texts. But I _swear_ , I'm not here for anything nefarious." She hesitated briefly, as though working up the courage to utter her next sentence. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that she was struggling too?"

His head jerked up then, his face softening. "What? No. I don't want that." Jay slumped further down into his seat, his hand unconsciously moving up to forehead. He whispered his next words, "That actually makes everything worse. I just want her to be happy. If she—if she isn't happy then what was the point of it all?"

Burgess smiled at her breakfast companion, and after a moment's hesitation, she reached across the table to gently grasp hold of his hand. "You're going to be okay Jay, you really are."

"I want to be," Jay confessed with a sad smile. "I hope I can be."

* * *

Jay's conversation with Burgess followed him around for the next few days; after their meeting he had resolved to be as happy as possible, not just for himself, but for her. He was determined to truly get that place of peace. The next time someone asked him how he was, he wanted to be able to say he was fine and actually _mean_ it. Jay needed that more than anything.

Intelligence had been busy with a particularly rough case: for the last few days a monster had been committing atrocities against children in Chicago. Cases like this one were always tough, but Jay felt it more than anyone. Though he had finally found justice for Ben Corson, he would always carry that case with him, forever haunted by the parallels between it and other crimes against innocent children.

A young boy had been grabbed up from a local playground the previous afternoon—witness statements had led them to the residence of Gerald Flanagan, a registered sex offender. Flanagan had arrived in Chicago a few months prior following his release from Stateville. Apparently he'd managed to find himself a decent lawyer, and somehow he had been freed on a technicality.

Voight had thrown Flanagan in the cage within seconds of bringing him to the district, but the creep had more balls than they had given him credit for; it had been close to four hours and he still wasn't talking. Antonio—ever the voice of reason—finally suggested they haul Flanagan into an interrogation room; he was concerned that Voight would take things too far and they'd lose all hope of a conviction. None of them wanted to see this scumbag take advantage of the system again. They sent Burgess in to talk to him first, hoping that her doe eyes and soft voice would soothe Flanagan into a sense of security and trust. And somehow it worked. Within minutes he had given them a location.

Jay, Upton, Olinsky, Ruzek and Atwater were on their feet in a flash, leaving Voight, Antonio and Burgess behind at the district as they hurried across town to the address Flanagan had given them. Moving as quickly as possible into the run-down building, they cleared the place from the top down; finally, it came time to breach the basement. The space was cold and dank; Jay had to duck as he and Upton led the rest of the team down the stairs, guns raised as they directed their flashlights around the dark space. Jay's light caught something small slumped on the floor in the far corner of the room; he ran over, falling to his knees when he recognized the missing boy.

Jay felt a familiar sinking feeling in his chest when he touched his fingertips to the little boy's neck, desperately searching for a pulse. His skin was like ice.

They were too late.

* * *

Paramedics arrived on the scene a few minutes later. Their sullen expressions confirmed Jay's earlier conclusion, but protocol meant the victim had to be checked out at Med before anyone could pronounce him. As the adage went, 'nobody is dead until they are warm and dead.'

Silence engulfed the back of the van as they followed behind the ambulance. Olinsky was at the wheel, Ruzek sat with his head in his hands, and Upton was leaning into Atwater's supportive embrace. But Jay was taking it the hardest; he had been the one to find that tiny little body cast aside in that filthy basement like he was nothing. He ran his fingers across his hairline as he tried to keep his emotions at bay.

Jay could feel everyone's eyes on him. They knew as well as he did that it wasn't just about the victim in this case, it was more than that—there was something else affecting him. This case had served as a nagging echo of the last case that _she_ had worked with the unit. The case that had ultimately caused her to leave Intelligence. The case that led her to leave Chicago. _The case that made her leave him_.

* * *

Natalie and April were waiting to meet the ambulance when it arrived at Med. Like the others, they immediately recognized the reality of the situation. But they still followed procedure, leading the paramedics into a nearby trauma room where warming blankets were already waiting. They left Intelligence to wait outside while they worked.

Twenty minutes later, Natalie opened the door and stepped out of the room. Her brow furrowed in distress as she spoke, "The warming blankets brought his core temperature up, and we performed a full work-up. But… unfortunately it was too late. He was already gone. There's nothing more we could do."

Natalie's words knocked the wind out of Jay. He felt his legs give out under his body and he slumped to the floor. Suddenly he felt as wrecked as that very first night that she left; as though any semblance of progress he had made in the last couple weeks had vanished into thin air.

No one knew what to do, they just looked around at each other, their eyes clouded with uncertainty. Then in a flash, Will appeared. Maybe he had just been walking by, or maybe someone had called him; either way he was there and moving quickly to Jay's side. Will bent down and pulled him up from the floor, bringing his arm around to help support his weight as the brothers started toward a nearby doctor's lounge.

The moment Will closed the door behind them, something inside Jay broke. Every ounce of heartbreak, frustration, sadness, anger, guilt, fear—every emotion that had been overwhelming him over the last few months came rushing to the surface, pouring out of him. It was as though his body just couldn't take the pressure anymore. Jay's body shook as he sobbed. "I… I just…" Jay tried to speak through his strangled cries. "I wish… I could have done something."

Seeing Jay so wrecked broke something in Will too; he pulled his little brother into a tight hug. "You can't save everyone Jay. I know you want to, but you can't." Will knew they weren't talking about that little boy anymore. This was just as much about her. Jay Halstead was a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders; today his shoulders were crippled by that weight. All Will could do then was try to help Jay carry that burden; he ran his hand up and down Jay's his back to try to soothe him.

The brothers sat huddled together on the floor for what felt like an eternity. Will kept his arms around Jay, whispering to remind him that he was there and that everything would be okay, until Jay's breathing finally started to slow down and return to normal. When Jay eventually pulled himself from his brother's arms, it was not to push him away, or to argue, or to try to convince Will that he was fine. Jay simply looked Will in the eye and whispered words of thanks.

* * *

"So how'd you manage to swing an entire weekend off?"

Will chuckled at his brother's words, the question pulling his attention away from staring out the passenger window. "Halstead charm." Jay raised an eyebrow in doubt. "Okay, okay, I promised Choi rink side tickets to the next Hawks game."

"Sounds about right," Jay laughed, shaking his head at his brother before focusing back on the road ahead of him.

Not long after, Will spoke again: "How much further is it?"

Jay rolled his eyes. "Dude, you've been asking me that every damn hour. _Are we there yet? Are we there yet?_ What are you, five?" He snickered before continuing, "I think we're only about an hour out. Maybe a little less?"

The next hour passed in comfortable silence. It was dark when they arrived; the only light coming from their headlights and the millions of stars scattered the night sky. Jay shifted the car into park, not bothering to even pull the keys from the ignition. As they grabbed their bags from the backseat and made their way up the path, Will broke the silence again, "Hey, when was the last time you were here anyway?"

"Hmm?" The question broke Jay out of a trance. He hadn't realized that he'd stopped dead in his tracks and was staring into space, a wistful look adorning his features. "Last year. We, uh, we had a few days off while Voight and O were called to testify on a case in New York."

Will just nodded knowingly; Jay brought her here. For two men that weren't always very upfront with their thoughts, the Halstead brothers could certainly read each other pretty damn well. It was late, so they dropped their duffel bags on the floor and went straight to bed without another word.

* * *

Jay woke early, just as the sun was rising. He threw on some jeans and a sweater and settled himself in one of the chairs on the porch to watch the magic happening. It was his favourite thing to do in his favourite place in the world, a stolen moment that made him feel at peace, no matter what was happening in his life.

When he and Will were kids, they'd spend summers there with their grandparents. Their grandfather would teach them to fish and they would jump off the boat and swim in the cold lake until their lips turned blue—at which point their grandmother would scoop them into her arms and fill their bellies with fresh cookies and hot cocoa. Those summers were some of the happiest times he could remember.

Back in high school, when his father became too much to take, Jay would drive through the night to spend time with his grandfather. They'd always had a special relationship, and when his grandmother passed away when Jay was fifteen, he and his grandfather grew even closer. He was the greatest influence in Jay's life, ultimately shaping him into the man he had grown to be.

Coming home from Afghanistan—after that _stupid_ weekend in Las Vegas that he found himself regretting now more than ever before—he had holed himself up there. Those were some of his darkest days, days spent drinking himself into a stupor, desperately trying to shake the images and voices that played on a constant loop in his mind. It was ultimately the memory of his grandparents and sense of security that the cabin provided that gave Jay the strength to move forward with his life.

And then he'd brought _her_ there. She'd feigned disgust when he first brought it up, but he knew it was a front. Because he knew her, he knew her better than anyone else ever had, probably than anyone else ever would. Jay had sensed her excitement at the prospect of getting out of town and spending a cozy weekend together, away from the chance of running into Voight or anyone else they knew. He'd been determined to share his happy place with her; they had forced themselves to cool it before they ever had a chance to make the trip.

But then they reunited and everything between them suddenly felt so normal. And even though they no longer _needed_ to hide, they both still longed for that one-on-one time away from the real world. Some unexpected days off had them finally driving up on a random Tuesday, taking their time and making stops in several small towns along the way. They'd spent the day out on the lake on his grandfather's boat; Jay laughing at her attempt at catching that Musky and Largemouth he'd told her about, her shoving him overboard when his playful teasing became too much. And then they'd snuggled up in front of the fire, savouring their nights getting lost in each other.

Jay ran a hand through his hair and sighed, hating himself for going there. That particular memory had once been one of his favourites; now it only brought pain. He had been talking with Dr. Charles lately, and their conversations had brought a lot of things to the surface—things he thought he had buried away forever, things he had—truthfully—hoped to _keep_ buried forever.

He had initially balked at Will's suggestion to make an appointment with the psychiatrist. Talking about feelings wasn't exactly something Jay was comfortable doing. But promised himself he would try. He honestly couldn't count the number of times he'd just stood outside of Dr. Charles' office, hand hovering over the door, paralyzed.

But the first day he had finally knocked on the door and gone in? It had been life-changing. Something about the shrink reminded Jay of his grandfather; that alone gave him the strength to push forward. Dr. Charles had really helped him to pull from his past and to start learning not only how to cope with the curveballs life had thrown at him over those months, but ultimately how to accept them.

And that meant that Jay was starting to accept that it was okay to think about her sometimes, because she would always hold some significance for him. She was a chapter—maybe one of the most important chapters—in the story of his life. Trying to erase her from his memory, from his mind, from his heart? That would be like erasing a part of himself.

It was certainly a process, and some days were easier than others.

Will appeared then, settling himself into the empty chair and dragging Jay away from his thoughts. "Morning," Jay smiled, glancing over at him.

"Hmmpf," came Will's grumbled response. "Why the hell are you up so early?"

Jay chuckled, shaking his head at his brother's less-than-chipper attitude. "No one made you get out of bed. You have no one to blame but yourself."

* * *

The brothers spent the rest of the weekend enjoying each other's company—it was like they were little kids again, fishing and swimming and taking long hikes through the nearby forest. Aside from their usual bickering, they spent a lot of their time together in silence. But it was comfortable silence. Over the last few years they had found themselves in a place of peace with one another; the words that went unsaid between spoke just as loudly as the ones they voiced. The mistakes they had both made in the past had helped them to develop a stronger relationship than ever.

When they were all loaded up to head home they both paused and pulled themselves up on the hood of the car, taking it all in one more time.

"This place is pretty special to you, huh?" Will observed, glancing over at his brother.

Jay's mouth turned upward into a smile. "Yeah, it really is."

"I'm glad we could come here together." Will reached over and wrapped his arm around his younger brother, pulling him into a hug. "I really am sorry that I wasn't here for you when you go back from…"

"I know man, and I appreciate it," Jay interrupted as he moved to wriggle free from Will's arms. "Now get off me, let's go home."

Again, they were mostly silent on the drive home. When they pulled into a diner about an hour outside of Chicago, Will finally worked up the courage to broach the subject he'd been avoiding all weekend, afraid that it would cast a dark cloud over the brothers' time together.

Once they'd ordered, Will ran his hand through his hair as he struggled to get the words out: "So, uh… I, um…"

"Dude, spit it out," Jay laughed. "Aren't you a damn doctor? Learn to speak man!"

"I want to marry Natalie." Jay nearly choked on his coffee, his mind racing as it dawned on him what Will was saying, or rather, what he was implying. _Will wanted the ring. Their mother's ring._ Her _ring, or at least the ring that was_ supposed _to be hers_.

And then it was as though Will was reading Jay's mind; his next words were hurried as he held his hands up almost defensively: "No, no, no, man. That's not… that's not what this is about. I don't… it's yours, it'll always be yours. Besides, Nat's done all this before, we've talked about it a bit. We're going to keep it simple."

Jay couldn't speak. It was as though all of his energy was being occupied running Will's words through his brain on a loop.

"Jay? Are you okay?" Will looked more closely at his brother's face. "I'm sorry to bring this up, but… well, I just wanted to ask you to, uh, to be my best man. That's all this is about, I _swear_. Jay?"

And as quickly as Jay had started drowning in his thoughts, he recovered. He reminded himself that it was okay to think about _her_ , it was okay to think about their time together. Even if it hurt. Because if there was anything Jay Halstead had learned in his life, it was that those clichéd words were true: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

So Jay's face fell into a genuine smile, maybe the first real one in months. He reached across the table to clap Will on the shoulder. "I'm really happy for you Will. This is really great." The nervous look on Will's face was quickly replaced with a wide grin that matched his younger brother's. "And of course I'll be your best man! It's not like you could find a better man than me anyway."

* * *

The next couple of days were quiet for Intelligence; their hours were occupied with the mind-numbing task of filling paperwork. So when Atwater piped up at quitting time and suggested they meet up over at Molly's later that night, he was met with a resounding chorus of yesses.

Jay had admittedly been slacking on his paperwork in the last few weeks, so he was last to leave the bullpen that day. By the time he arrived at Molly's the rest of the team was already a few beers deep. Jay could hear the rowdy group from outside; they were lucky they knew the owners.

"Jay!" Ruzek—clearly half in the bag already—hollered his name as Jay approached their table.

"How ya doing man?" Antonio asked, handing him a beer.

As he slid into the empty stool, Jay cracked a smile. "I'm fine." And for the first time in months, he really meant it.

* * *

 **I'd love to hear what you think! Please be gentle, this is my first time writing! Just to be clear, I still firmly believe that Linstead is end game. I don't care what the writers do, they will be together again one day. (To that end, I'm toying with writing a "sequel" to this...)**


	2. Don't Look Back

_They told me in no uncertain terms, they're coming after you… don't look back._

Hank's words repeated on a loop in Erin's head as she stood on that bridge, the skyline of the only city she'd ever known staring right back at her. She shivered; maybe from the cold, but more likely from thinking about the mess her life had become. It felt like just yesterday she was blissfully happy, working her dream job, sharing her home— _and her life_ —with the man she loved. Everything had been so perfect.

Until it wasn't.

First her father—or, as it turned out, _not_ her father—came back into the picture. Then they learned that Jay was _married_ and he packed his bags and left. That damn case with that poor little boy and that sick twisted monster just became too much and she just snapped. And Bunny's latest bullshit was the cherry on top, the last piece of the puzzle that destroyed her. Just like that, it was all gone.

Erin's phone started to ring then, snapping her away from her thoughts. Before even glancing at the caller ID she knew who it was. There was only one person it could be. _Him_. She hit ignore and it almost killed her; there was literally nothing in the world that she craved more in that moment than to pick up, to hear his voice on the other end, to fall into him and feel the peace and security of his arms.

She didn't want to, but she knew she had to. Because if she had answered? If she'd heard his voice, heard him say her name in that way that only he could, like every letter meant the world to him? There was nothing that could have held her back from him. And that wouldn't have been fair to anyone. So instead Erin stood there, alone with only the lights of Chicago—her city, her home, her world—bearing witness to her anguish. Could she really leave it all behind? Could she really leave _him_ behind?

And then her phone rang again. Of course it was him. Somehow it felt easier to hit ignore this time; because by then she knew her answer. She had to leave, _she had to_. It was the best thing for everyone. Because if she stayed, she would have no job, no purpose, just _him_. He would truly be everything to her. And that thought was terrifying. Erin Lindsay was not a person who could depend on another so much; she knew how quickly _everything_ could become _nothing_. And she couldn't go back to nothing.

What was that saying? _If you love something, set it free_? That's exactly what she was doing, freeing Jay. Freeing him from the mess that her life would always be, from the dark clouds of her past, from all of the mistakes she had made, and all of the mistakes she would continue to make. Because as much as she'd grown, as hard as she'd tried, she was still Bunny Fletcher's daughter—and you can never truly escape your past.

As much as she craved it, she knew there was no future for them. She'd been kidding herself before—there was no way a man like Jay Halstead could possibly imagine spending his life with someone like _her_. He was everything good, and she was bad news; always had been, always would be. So this was the best thing; he would get over her and find someone more deserving of him and his beautiful heart. He could do so much better, and this was her way of giving that to him.

Erin looked back at Chicago one more time. One _last_ time.

And then she left.

* * *

The drive to New York was long—more than twelve hours. Erin drove straight through the night, only stopping twice to fill the gas tank. She couldn't bring herself to eat anything; she felt empty enough already, she figured she may as well keep it that way.

It certainly would have been faster, _easier_ to fly. But she had figured it would be pretty hard to pack her entire life into a carry-on bag or a couple of suitcases. Turns out she was wrong about that, too. Erin didn't take much from their— _her_ —apartment; she grabbed only the most important things, a few photos, a couple of books, those band posters she loved so much. She left everything else. It all reminded her of _him_ ; it still hurt to think about watching him pack his bags, even while she was packing her own to leave that life behind for good.

Erin spent those long hours driving down the highway alone with her thoughts. She tried to focus on the future, on the opportunity that was waiting for her, on the good she would be doing for her country. All the while fighting herself from getting lost in thoughts of the past. Doing everything she could to stop thinking about him, to heed Hank's advice. When she'd first nodded in response to those words, she had no idea how difficult it would be.

So she compromised with herself. She would allow herself to think about the past and about what she was leaving behind and about _him_. But only until her headlights illuminated that first sign telling her that she was in New York. Then that would be it; she would force herself to move forward— _don't look back_.

* * *

It was early morning when Erin arrived in the city; she drove through the chaotic traffic to the only address she knew. The moment Olivia Benson opened the door, Erin fell into the older woman's arms, the weight of reality suddenly overwhelming her, becoming too much for her to handle.

If Olivia had been surprised to see her, she certainly didn't show it. Erin later learned that Hank had called her; he'd wanted there to be someone in New York for his pseudo-daughter to turn to—she'd already been alone enough to last a lifetime. Olivia set Erin up on the pull-out couch in her office. It wasn't much, but it was comfortable enough for her to catch some shut-eye; exhaustion was written all over her face.

Somehow, Erin managed to sleep for a few hours. She was surprised to discover that it was already early afternoon when she woke. She suddenly sprang into action—she had only been given a few days to get everything settled before starting her new job. Agent Spencer had put Erin in contact with a real estate company who could help her find a furnished place close to headquarters.

Erin was nervous as she dialed the number, perhaps realizing that she was making a phone call that would truly set her new life in motion. That one phone call would start the chain of events that would leave Chicago behind her for good, officially making New York City her home. Somehow she pushed through, briefly speaking with an unpleasant woman and jotted down the address where she was to meet the broker.

* * *

The downtown apartment building was slick and modern, right in the hustle and bustle of the city. She was greeted by a doorman who ushered her into the swanky lobby. Erin felt so out of place, surrounded by glass and chrome and everything different from her cozy walk-up back in Chicago. She suddenly found herself longing for her old place; she missed it so much it was painful.

"Erin Lindsay?" A deep voice tore her from her thoughts. Erin turned and nodded at the man standing in front of her, forcing a hint of a smile on her face. She surveyed him briefly: he was older, but he would certainly be considered good-looking, tall with warm brown eyes that felt like they were boring into her. "I'm Henry Quinn, you spoke with my assistant earlier? Ready to check this place out?"

Somehow Erin found her voice, "Yes, yeah. That would be great."

They rode the elevator in silence. Erin could feel his eyes on her the entire time. She supposed in another life she might have been attracted to him, but in this moment she was just uncomfortable. She barely glanced around the apartment before yanking out her chequebook and telling him that she would take it. She just wanted— _needed_ —to get out of there as fast as possible.

* * *

The next few days moved at lightning speed. Her personal belongings were few and far between, which made settling into her new place easy; settling in to her new job was a whole other challenge. Erin's last dalliance with the FBI was similar in many ways, yet this somehow felt completely different. Despite all of the politics and all of the hoops they had to jump through, it was clear that this was a department that was actually making a real impact on their country. It was easy for Erin to slide into her new role, doing something she truly felt great about.

Agent Spencer gave Erin a tour of the offices, first pointing her in the direction of the coffee machine and the break room—those would be her lifelines in combatting the long hours they would inevitably be clocking—before showing her to her desk. Not just her desk, her _office_. She would be sharing the space with her new partner, but it still felt exhilarating to have an office. It helped the importance of her job to really sink in.

Erin was left alone there to make herself comfortable—as comfortable as possible in the high heels and pantsuit she had never imagined she'd be wearing again. Moments later she was joined by another person; his presence had startled her at first, but Erin quickly rose from her desk and strode across the room, extending her hand to him, "Hi, I'm Erin Lindsay, and you are…?"

"Mitch Wheeler," he grinned at her as they clasped their hands together; she could feel his eyes on her. "I certainly lucked out in the partner department. When Spencer mentioned a Chicago cop, well, you aren't exactly what came to mind. I figured they were going to stick with me with some middle-aged, beer-guzzling Cubs fan."

"Well, I'm actually a Sox fan, so you're safe there," Erin laughed, hoping it would mask the flashes of watching baseball games with _him_ that were playing through her mind—the first time her took her to a game, nights curled up on the couch together, the excitement on his face when she wore his hat. She did her best to shake those thoughts away and focus on the man standing in front of her.

They were interrupted by Wheeler's cell phone ringing. As he sat at his desk to take the call, Erin surveyed him, trying to get a feel for this veritable stranger that she would be spending countless hours with, that she would be trusting with her life. He was probably about her age, maybe even a little younger. He was attractive in an all-American sort of way; he looked like the kind of guy who could make women of all ages swoon. And the way he carried himself? Well, Erin was pretty sure he _knew_ all of these things about himself; he was definitely confident. All things considered, Wheeler actually reminded her a little bit of _him_.

It dawned on her then, that this was real, that this was actually happening. She would no longer have _him_ as her backup, on the job or anywhere else. In that moment, Erin couldn't decide which was more difficult to think about, someone else having her back, or someone else having his. Sure, the guys were great—she would trust Atwater and Ruzek and O with her life, she _had_ —they would undoubtedly keep him safe. But she felt a sinking feeling in her gut when she imagined it. Erin had had other partners before, and some small part of her knew that she would eventually have a new one. But she had foolishly thought that that would only happen when the ivory tower inevitably found out about their relationship and forced Voight to separate them.

Not because she was an idiot and fucked everything up.

"Lindsay!" Wheeler had ended his call and turned in Erin's direction, grabbing his keys and shrugging into his jacket as he continued. "That was Spencer. We've got a lead she wants us to chase down; I'll fill you in on the way."

* * *

In addition to tracking known terrorists and supporting the efforts of other international agencies, the FBI's Counterterrorism Division investigated countless threats. Spencer had them running all over the city meeting with operatives and informants to determine the credibility of various tips. Erin had thought that Intelligence hours were long, but working with the CTD was a whole new level of gruelling. Their days typically started before the sun came up, and often they remained at the office until late into the night.

Erin didn't mind the long hours. They were exhausting, but she welcomed the escape, the distraction from her thoughts of her old life in Chicago. As hard as she tried to heed Hank's advice and not look back, Erin found herself doing just that almost constantly. She longed to reach out and call _him_. After a great day, after a hard day, it didn't matter—it was a constant pull. But she stopped herself every time. She hadn't heard from him since that night when she ignored his calls; clearly he was over it, over her. So Erin focused on work.

She and Wheeler had quickly fallen in sync; their superiors were impressed. They were comfortable together—they bantered like they'd known each other for years, and had somehow developed a sense of what the other was thinking. It was clear that they made a great team.

At the end of her first full week with the CTD, they'd somehow managed to finish up at a reasonable hour. Wheeler mentioned something about grabbing drinks to celebrate, and Erin had quickly agreed. The idea of spending a few extra hours alone in her sterile apartment wasn't exactly appealing; she was lonely, missing _him_ and the rest of her old unit. Besides, she had always loved capping off a shift at Molly's, so this was the perfect opportunity to start those traditions with her new team in New York.

Erin stopped back to her apartment to change before meeting up with her colleagues. It was closing in on ten o'clock when she finally made it to the address Wheeler had texted her; she was still getting used to maneuvering through the chaos of New York City. The place was nothing like Molly's, but Erin hadn't expected it to be; it was more of a club than a pub. And like the rest of the city, it was shiny and glitzy and of course, Erin felt wildly out of place. She pushed through her discomfort and scanned the crowded room for familiar faces.

"Lindsay!"

Hearing her name, her gaze snapped in its general direction and landed on Wheeler sitting at a high table flirting with a cocktail waitress—alone.

"Lindsay, glad you could make it," Wheeler greeted Erin with a smirk when she sank onto the stool opposite him. He nodded at the waitress, "So what'll it be, beer, whiskey, vodka, fruity pink cocktail…? Pick your poison."

"Um, whiskey please, neat." After the waitress moved back toward the bar to fix their drinks, Erin spoke again, "Hey, uh, where's everybody else?"

"Well, you know Spencer isn't exactly one for going out, and it's Kaufmann's weekend with his kid. And I heard Yang and O'Neill got caught chasing a tip. But Morton's coming."

"Oh, okay, cool." Erin suddenly felt uncomfortable. She wasn't sure why, since she and Wheeler spent all day every day together. But being alone sharing drinks in a dimly lit club felt very, very different.

When the waitress returned with their order, Erin again shook off her discomfort. She was determined to build a solid partnership with Wheeler. Sure, they got on well on the clock, but she didn't know anything about him. She wanted them to have that friendship and comradery outside of work too.

They tossed back a few, chatting briefly about their latest cases before moving on to the personal lives of their colleagues. After their third round, Morton still hadn't shown up, and Erin was starting to feel a little tipsy. She had excused herself to use the washroom and spoke up when she slid back into her stool: "Hey, what happened to Morton? Shouldn't he be here by now?"

"He actually just texted me; something came up, he had to bail."

"Oh. Well, it's getting late, I should probably head out," Erin grabbed for her jacket and moved to stand.

"Come on Lindsay, one more round?"

"No thanks," she picked up her purse and threw a few bills on the table. "It's been a long week, I'm exhausted."

"At least let me walk you out?" Erin raised her eyebrow and gave him a questioning look. "Okay, okay, I know you can handle yourself, I just figure we're both leaving, both headed in the same direction, we might as well share a cab?" Erin reluctantly agreed; he was right, there was no reason to say no, as much as she wanted to.

As they stood in front of the club waiting for an available taxi to show up, Wheeler took a step closer to Erin. His hand moved to the small of her back and he leaned close, his breath hot in as he whispered in her ear, "So your place or mine?"

Erin was startled by his words, "What? I'm not—"

"Come on Lindsay, let's stop playing games," He moved even closer as he interrupted her. "We both knew where this was headed." Wheeler's hand moved lower onto her backside, his eyes were dark and a wicked smirk flashed across his face.

She snapped then, yanking her body away from his, her eyes filled with anger as she hissed at him: "Excuse me? That's… that's not what this was about; this was just two partners getting to know each other."

His voice was almost menacing now, "I looked into you, asked around a bit—I know _all_ about you and how you like to _get to know_ your partner."

Erin's palm connected with Wheeler's face in an instant. She stalked off before he had time to react to the slap. Tears burned in her eyes as she made her way toward the nearest subway station. She was seething with rage, at Wheeler, but also at herself. She'd been blinded by the initial similarities between Wheeler and _him_ —similarities that were _clearly_ misguided—and she had let her guard down as a result.

The moment she stepped back into her apartment she broke down; her back against the door as she fell to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. It was the first time she'd cried since that morning at Olivia's. Erin hadn't let herself feel anything for that entire week.

And she vowed then that after _these_ tears, she wouldn't let herself feel anything again.

* * *

Any intentions that Erin may have had to hole up in her apartment were dashed by an early morning call from Spencer. They had received a credible threat about a bomb set up in a building—all hands on deck.

Erin dressed quickly, grabbed a protein bar and a bottle of water, and dashed out the door. Spencer was waiting at the scene, quickly briefing her on the situation at hand. Half of the team was digging into the source of the call in an attempt to locate the suspect; Wheeler was waiting for Erin inside. They were responsible for coordinating with the bomb squad to clear the building and isolate the device.

The consummate professional, Erin greeted Wheeler as though nothing had happened between them the night before. She asked him for a status update, and he quickly filled her in: their team had located the device in an upstairs office and they were just waiting on a headcount check to ensure that the building's occupants had been evacuated. The bomb squad was less than ten minutes out.

In those ten minutes everything changed.

Out of nowhere, an NYPD officer rushed over to Erin and Wheeler; they had received word that two of the building's occupants were unaccounted for, likely still inside their apartment. "We should go in, do one last sweep," Erin announced as she adjusted her vest.

"No, we need to hold out for the bomb squad," Wheeler corrected. "It's protocol."

Erin glared at him. "Forget protocol, there are two people inside, we are responsible for their safety, we need to get them out of there, _now_!" She darted into the building then, not giving her partner a chance to argue.

The elevator had been disabled— _fucking protocol_ —so Erin took the stairs two at a time. She wasn't sure if she had ever moved faster in her life. But she had to save those people, _she had to_. She burst through the doors into the hallway on the fourth floor, running toward the apartment in question.

Then everything went black.

* * *

When Erin opened her eyes they were met by an almost blinding light. She blinked a few times before turning her head to take in her surroundings. Everything was bright and white and still. She mustered up whatever strength she could find to pull herself up into a sitting position and take a closer look around.

She was in the hospital. Her head was throbbing and her left arm was in a sling; she could feel the weight of bandages on her abdomen. There was a breathing tube in her throat that prevented her from speaking. Erin ignored the panicked feeling rising in her as she strained to reach the call button.

A nurse rushed in right away, gently stroking Erin's arm to try to calm her. "It's okay honey, I need you to relax for just a minute. Dr. Richardson is on his way, and then we'll get this thing out of you, okay love?" Erin nodded ever so slightly in agreement. The nurse gave her a warm smile; Erin noticed the kindness in her eyes—she reminded her of Camille.

The doctor entered the room moments later. He smiled with a quick hello, consulting Erin's chart and quickly checking her vitals before continuing. "Miss Lindsay, glad to see you awake. I'm Dr. Richardson. We're going to extubate you now. Your throat is going to be a little sore, but Nancy here has some water ready for you, okay?" The nurse—Nancy, apparently—smiled down at Erin again at the doctor's explanation.

Erin coughed as the breathing tube was removed. She managed a grateful smile at Nancy when the older woman brought the straw to her lips. After a few sips Erin spoke, her voice even raspier than usual: "What… what happened?"

"You were caught in an explosion. A bomb went off in a building and you were very close to the blast area," Dr. Richardson began. "In addition to superficial cuts and bruises, you sustained a concussion and a minor fracture in your arm." He sighed, "Miss Lindsay there's one other thing, there was some shrapnel lodged in your abdomen. The trauma was significant. We had to take you into surgery—"

Erin felt Nancy grasp hold of her right hand; she supposed the action was meant to calm her, but it only made Erin feel more nervous. "Okay? Oh no, _please_ don't tell me I won't be able to go back to work." Work was all she had now, she couldn't lose that too.

Nancy gave Erin's hand a gentle squeeze as Dr. Richardson continued, "As I said, the trauma was significant. We did everything we could, but unfortunately we were unable to save the baby."

It was as though all of the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

"The… b-baby? What… what are you talking about?" Erin couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She could barely process what she had just heard.

"I'm so very sorry Miss Lindsay. Were you not aware?" Dr. Richardson glanced down at the chart. "You were about ten weeks along." Sensing that Erin needed some time alone to process this information, Nancy gave her hand one more squeeze before moving to follow Dr. Richardson from the room.

 _Ten weeks._

Ten weeks ago they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. Ten weeks ago they were happy. Ten weeks ago everything was different.

Subconsciously, Erin moved her right hand down to her abdomen, her palm resting over her now empty womb. _How could she not have known?_

It had been difficult before, but in that moment it became _impossible_ to heed Hank's words; looking back was all Erin could do. She closed her eyes and thought about the last ten weeks. Watching him walk out the door, shooting that kid, losing her cool in the interrogation room, losing her badge, facing the disciplinary council, Bunny fucking things up as usual. Leaving everything in Chicago behind. New job, new place, new life. She had been so preoccupied with the chaos swirling around her, she hadn't paid attention to anything else.

In hindsight, all the signs were there. She was late, but she had attributed it to stress—God knows she'd dealt with more than her fair share of it lately. She'd been nauseous, but had just assumed it was a manifestation of her heartbreak and the overwhelming pandemonium of her new life. She supposed she'd put on a few pounds too, but Erin had figured that was just her poor eating habits finally catching up to her.

But no, she had been pregnant. Pregnant with _his_ baby. She had been carrying a piece of _him_ with her all this time. And because she was an idiot, she lost it.

After a moment the reality of the situation sunk in, crashing into her like a freight train. Erin couldn't contain her emotions; heartbreak and sadness and grief overwhelmed her. She curled into the fetal position and her body shuddered as she wept.

* * *

Erin spent the next eleven days in the hospital. She was pumped full of pain meds, which was the only reason she was able to get any sleep. It was a welcome escape; her waking hours were spent at war with herself. Her mind raced with thoughts of what might have been, what she had, what she'd lost, what she was supposed to do now.

Olivia came to sit with her for a few hours here and there—Erin pretended to be asleep for most of her visits. She couldn't face her. She knew that Olivia would be sympathetic and compassionate, and Erin didn't deserve any of it.

After hearing about her injuries from Olivia, Hank called every day. He had offered to jump on the next flight to come to New York to be there with her, but Erin begged him not to. She'd assured him that it wasn't necessary, that she was okay. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

She didn't tell him about the baby. She _couldn't_ tell him. She couldn't tell anyone. Erin had made a lot of mistakes in her life, but nothing would ever compare to this. She had never felt so ashamed; she had never hated herself more.

The only person she had an actual conversation with was her boss. Agent Spencer had stopped by one morning to update Erin on the case and let her know that they'd caught the perpetrator a few blocks away from the blast site. There had only been a few other injuries in the explosion; the missing civilians had simply gone out of town on vacation without telling their neighbours.

That last piece of information absolutely gutted Erin. She had risked everything—she had _lost_ everything—for nothing.

So she didn't fight the drowsiness brought on by her medication, succumbing to sleep every chance she had, relishing the opportunity to slip away from the hurt of reality and into unconsciousness where she felt nothing.

* * *

After her release from the hospital, Erin was eager to get back to work. But Spencer had ordered her to stay home for at least another week. Home was the last place Erin wanted to be. Home wasn't her cold, lonely apartment—home was Chicago, home was _him_. But she knew could never go home again, especially now.

Dr. Richardson had prescribed Erin with some strong painkillers. Clearly her history of substance abuse had not been noted in her files. It made sense, really. Hank and Camille had taken care of her when she was fifteen, had helped to pull her out of it. And then Hank was there again when Nadia died. He didn't want her mistakes to follow her around for the rest of her life, to mar her promising future.

No matter how hard she tried, Erin couldn't escape it. So instead of listening to her head and tearing up her prescription, she marched over to the pharmacy and left clutching a bottle of oxycodone.

It was slow at first. Erin followed the dosage on the bottle, strictly taking it to combat the pain from her injuries.

But one pill became two. And then she wasn't just trying to numb herself from the physical pain, but from her emotional pain as well.

Then two became three. And three became four. And five. And six. And then Erin was just trying to stop herself from feeling anything at all.

* * *

Aside from the occasional phone call with Hank, Erin had severed all ties with her life back in Chicago. At a time in her life where support was arguably what she needed most, she had never felt so alone. And it was killing her.

Somehow Erin had managed to pull herself together enough to show up to the office. Her team at the CTD was pleased to have her back, but their welcomes just made her long for her old team, _her family_.

Her first week back had been rough. The fracture in her arm would be a detriment in the field, so Erin was more or less chained to her desk. Her days were spent filing paperwork and playing phone tag with other agencies. It was mindless busywork, none of which made an iota of a difference—she felt completely and utterly useless.

The only benefit to being stuck in the confines of the field office was how easy it was for Erin to sneak away from her desk. She dashed off to the bathroom to pop more pills throughout the day. She needed them to keep her mind off of everything.

The pills weren't enough to quiet the storm raging inside of her when she was alone in her apartment at night. So Erin would drink. Heavily. She was pretty sure the kindly old man that ran the bodega by her apartment was starting to worry about her; she stumbled in almost every night to buy another bottle. She would drink until she passed out. Usually in her bed, but sometimes on the couch, and one morning she woke to find herself sprawled out on the floor of her kitchen.

While her first week back was rough, it moved quickly, likely because Erin was in a daze for most of it. It had been surprisingly easy for her to hide her downward spiral from her colleagues; aside from asking how she was feeling, none of them had noticed her acting out of the ordinary in any way.

In fact, when Friday rolled around a few of them even tried to convince her to join them for a late dinner. Erin politely declined, telling them she was exhausted from being back to work, that she just wanted to head home and turn in early. It was only a half-lie—she _was_ exhausted. Exhausted from the physical pain caused by her injuries. Exhausted from pretending to be okay all day. Exhausted from battling the demons that were destroying her more and more by the second.

But Erin didn't want to go back to her apartment. She didn't want to turn in early. And she definitely didn't want to be as alone as she felt.

So instead of going back to her apartment, she went to a seedy bar in a questionable part of the city.

Instead of turning in early, she downed shots until well after midnight.

And instead of being alone, she went home with a stranger.

* * *

Erin woke up in a strange man's bed. The previous night's events flashed through her mind like some kind of horrible home video as she looked around at the sketchy studio apartment that looked as dirty as she felt.

 _A guy at the bar had offered to buy her a drink. She had recognized that he was attractive—not her type, but attractive none the less. For a moment Erin wondered what her type even was, but in a flash she realized; she never really had a type, just_ _ **him**_ _. The darkness overwhelmed her in that moment. She convinced herself that she could never go back to him after all that she had done; he would never be able to forgive her._

 _Erin had to force herself to move on. To move forward. To forget about her old life._

 _But she knew it wouldn't be easy. So she let the stranger buy her one shot, and then another. Before she knew it they were matching each other drink for drink until Erin couldn't feel anything but his hand on her thigh and his lips on her neck._

 _They stumbled into a cab and ended up at his place. Their clothes were off in a flash as they fell into bed; it was fast and wild. When they had finished and were sprawled on top of the rumpled sheets, he pulled a baggie off of his nightstand and offered Erin a bump. She hesitated for a split second before dipping her head down to do the line; it was the only way she could stop herself from looking back._

Suddenly Erin felt nauseous. She leapt from the bed and ran into the bathroom, barely making it in time to vomit into the toilet. She was completely disgusted with herself.

* * *

Within a few weeks, Erin's physical wounds had healed enough for her to be medically cleared to go back out in the field. Her emotional wounds, on the other hand, were still festering. Erin's medical clearance meant the end of her prescribed painkillers, forcing her to rely on the harder stuff to continue to numb herself.

She'd go through the motions every day at work, sneaking off to get a fix whenever she could steal a minute. This wasn't new for Erin; her life was spiraling out of control, just like it did when she was a teenager, and again after Nadia's death. It was her pattern, and she had developed an uncanny ability to mask her destructive behaviour.

One day, about a month after being cleared to return to the field, Erin and Wheeler got a call to meet up with a soldier on forced leave from Afghanistan. He'd been working as a communications specialist when his unit had infiltrated an enemy base camp. Unfortunately their intel was misguided—the base was rigged and his entire unit was killed in an ambush. The soldier was understandably shaken, but he was still determined to do whatever he could to assist in the capture of the leaders of the terror cell.

They were set to meet at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. Wheeler and Erin had been briefed by Spencer before heading out; she wanted to make sure they understood that the soldier was dealing with severe post-traumatic stress. They needed to tread lightly.

No briefing could ever have prepared Erin for that meeting.

Because she knew that soldier.

It was Mouse.

* * *

Aside from the matching looks of surprise they both wore, neither Mouse nor Erin let on that they knew each other. Their meeting was all business.

Wheeler asked most of the questions; Erin was still reeling from the shock of seeing Mouse again. She was relieved that he was okay—at least physically—but she couldn't help but wonder if Mouse had been in touch with _him_.

Mouse had recently been in contact with someone from the enemy side, a woman who was frightened for her well-being and the safety of her children. Somehow she got her hands on a copy of a transmission between some of the higher-ups within the group. That transmission, coupled with visual corroboration from the woman, would be enough to confirm the identity of the cell's leader. Knowing his identity was the missing piece they needed to triangulate his location and bring him down.

When the meeting ended, Wheeler told Mouse they'd be in touch before heading up to the counter to pay the bill. Erin had felt his eyes on her throughout their conversation, and now that they were alone, she finally spoke.

"Mouse, are you… are you okay?" He just stared back at her, obviously overcome by his nerves and his demons. "Mouse?" He snapped out of his trance when she repeated his name, finally looking at her face. Erin gnawed on her bottom lip, working up the courage to continue. No matter how hard she tried to stop herself looking back, Erin longed for a connection to her old life—to _him_. "I was just… do you maybe want to meet up later? To talk?"

Mouse nodded slowly. Before he could change his mind she jotted her address down on the back of her card and slid it across the table to him. She noticed Wheeler approaching the table again, and quickly added, "Tonight. Nine o'clock."

* * *

Erin willed the rest of her day to pass quickly. When she had finally left the office at around eight, she rushed back to her apartment, only stopping quickly to pick up a six-pack of Mouse's favourite beer and a bottle of whiskey for herself. Again she ignored the look of concern from the man running the bodega. She had just enough time to shower and quickly tidy up before hearing a sharp knock at exactly nine.

Erin opened the door to find Mouse standing awkwardly in the hall with his head down and his hands in his pockets. She managed a small smile before motioning for him to come inside.

She watched as Mouse tentatively removed his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door before untying his shoes and placing them neatly on the mat. He was methodical; his actions were clearly developed by years of military training. It was equally foreign and familiar to Erin: while she was admittedly not the tidiest, she recognized the behaviour— _he_ had been the exact same way.

He followed Erin into the living room. She poured herself a drink and handed Mouse a beer. When she curled up in the armchair, he settled awkwardly on her uncomfortable couch. Erin hadn't been able to bring herself to find a replacement yet; just thinking about it reminded her of the last time she'd gone couch shopping. With _him_.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Mouse was fiddling with the label on his beer, while Erin jostled the whiskey in her glass. It was as though they were both struggling to muster up the courage to say something.

Surprisingly it was Mouse who spoke first, his voice careful and quiet as ever: "Erin, what are you doing in New York? Where's Jay?"

Hearing _his_ name for the first time in months broke her resolve. The glass dropped from Erin's hand; she was overcome with emotion, tears immediately running down her face. "Erin?" Mouse said her name again, anxiously wringing his hands. "What's—?"

And then the words poured out of her. Erin told Mouse about everything that had happened back in Chicago since he'd left. She told him about Abby coming back to town. About Jay leaving the apartment. About Hank splitting them up. About that awful, awful case. About losing her badge and her job. About losing _him_. Everything that Erin had been bottling up inside, burying deeper and deeper with every drink and every pill and every hit—it all came crashing to the surface and spilled from her lips as she cried.

Erin had been surprised to feel strong arms wrap around her shoulders. Mouse—panicky, nervous, socially-awkward Mouse—was hugging her. His actions immediately pulled her from her meltdown. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lose it like that," she sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes and pulling herself out of Mouse's embrace, clearly embarrassed at her behaviour.

"It's okay," Mouse shrugged before settling back into his seat on the couch.

"Can I ask you something?" He nodded, signalling for Erin to continue, "Why are _you_ in New York? Why didn't you go back to Chicago?"

"I couldn't." Mouse stated simply before falling silent again. He downed the last of his beer and popped open another one. "I couldn't face Jay. I should have listened to him. He… he was right all along. It was a mistake to go back." Mouse gulped down more of his beer, working up the nerve to explain himself further. And just as Erin had confessed her struggles to him, he opened up to her. He spoke more in that evening than Erin had ever heard him say in the years she knew him back in Chicago.

Mouse told her about the horrible things he had seen, things he'd forgotten about—or buried deep—since his first tours. He confessed that he'd been depressed, that he hadn't been able to sleep at night. And he even told her that he had started popping pills again. Despite what he had told Jay that day almost a year before, he had _not_ learned how to deal with it.

Listening to Mouse talk about his struggles, Erin realized something. This man had faced so much in his time overseas, and here he was sharing everything with her, reassuring _her_. If this broken man could look his demons square in the eye and fight them, there was nothing stopping her from doing the same.

When he had finished talking, Erin finished the last sip of whiskey in her glass, took a deep breath, and spoke again. "There's something else." Mouse tipped his head to the side, the look in his eyes spurring her to go on. "I… uh… I was pregnant." His face softened at her words, but Mouse didn't say a word. "I didn't know… and then… there was an accident and I was pregnant and…" Erin could feel the tears burning her eyes again, but she pressed forward. "I'm not anymore. I, uh, I lost it. It was an accident, but… it was still my fault. And I couldn't handle it, I couldn't think about what I'd done. And… I've been using again. Like before… like when—"

Mouse had been there then. He'd seen how Nadia's death had affected Erin, how it had almost destroyed her. Truth be told he had wanted to help her then, but he just didn't know how to. But this time he knew. He knew exactly what she needed. He knew exactly how she was struggling, exactly what those demons felt like. So Mouse did the only thing he could: he reached over and grasped hold of Erin's quivering hand with his own.

They sat there like that for a while, neither speaking as they sat with their hands clasped together like a lifeline. While their hands shook on their own, they were steadier when they brought them together.

Erin understood then why _he_ had always said that you could trust Mouse with your life. She didn't realize when it had happened, but somehow she had decided to trust him with hers.

* * *

Over the weeks that followed, Erin and Mouse leaned on each other, forming what could only be described as their own two-person support group. They learned to share their struggles, using words to replace their vices.

Some days they didn't talk much—Erin was back to her regular long hours, and Mouse had kept busy with his new job managing surveillance for a security company downtown. But they still tried to check in with each other. But other days they spent hours opening up, sharing things that they hadn't told anyone else before. They were vulnerable, but they shared a mutual trust and respect that made it work somehow. Erin couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if she had opened up like this with _him_. Maybe if she had let him in more, he would have done the same; they would have been stronger.

When Mouse mentioned that he had been staying in a motel, Erin quickly offered up her spare bedroom. He had hesitated at first, not wanting to be a burden to her, but she had assured him that the invitation wasn't entirely selfless. Somehow Erin Lindsay—the woman who had thrived on her own for years until _he_ came along—wanted, even needed to share her space.

In many ways, living with Mouse was a lot like living with _him_. They'd sit on the couch—they had gone shopping for a new one when he moved in, he figured it was the least he could do—and watch Sox games together. Mouse would cook and Erin would do the dishes. He was tidy and she… wasn't. They balanced each other out perfectly.

And while they had certainly connected through their shared demons, it was obvious that there was something else bringing Erin and Mouse together. They both missed _him_. He was the most important person in both of their lives, but neither was willing or able to reach out to him. So they were each other's best option, the closest replacement for the person they were both longing for.

* * *

As wonderful as it was to have a friend to lean on and share with, Erin needed more. Living with Mouse, talking to Hank, meeting Olivia for lunch—it was all wonderful and fulfilling. But it wasn't enough to fill the void in her life.

So she reached out to Burgess. It started with just a few texts. The two women had grown quite close in their time working together at District 21; Erin had always sort of considered Burgess to be like a little sister.

At first, they kept it casual. Erin asked about how things were back in Chicago and how she liked working upstairs in Intelligence. Burgess was curious how New York was treating her, and was eager to share goofy stories about Atwater and Ruzek's latest escapades.

After they'd been exchanging messages for what felt like forever (but in reality was probably only a couple of weeks), Erin finally worked up the courage to ask the one question she'd been wanting to since she had sent that very first text:

 _How is he?_

It was several minutes before Burgess answered, almost as though she was trying to figure out what to say to such a question. Erin knew it wasn't fair to put her in that position. But she needed to know. And it wasn't like she could ask Hank. Burgess was her only option.

 _I'm having breakfast with him tomorrow_.

* * *

The next twenty-four hours were excruciating. Erin was on edge most of the day, equally excited and terrified to hear back from Burgess. Her phone never left her hand, and yet somehow its ringing still startled her. "Hey Kim," Erin tried to sound breezy, but her voice shook, betraying her.

It was their first time actually talking on the phone, so it was almost strange to hear the familiar voice after so long. But Burgess sounded exactly the same, like her usual cheerful self on the other end of the line. "Hi Erin! How's it going?"

"It's been a hell of a day, but we're finally closing up this case, thank goodness. It was a rough one." Erin didn't want to talk about work. There was only one thing on her mind at that moment. "So… how was your day?" It was the lamest possible segue.

Of course Burgess knew what she was getting at, Erin hadn't exactly been subtle. So she proceeded to tell her about her conversation with Jay from earlier that day. Not everything though, because that wouldn't be fair to him—he was her friend too. "He's working through things, but… he's going to be okay."

Knowing that he was okay, that he was moving forward? She didn't admit it then, but that meant everything to Erin. Because if he wasn't happy then what was the point of it all?

While Erin had left Chicago to escape from the mess her life had become, she also did it to save him. To give him the opportunity to have everything he deserved, all of the good things she would hold him back from. Because she was bad news. But that wasn't true. Being born into bad news didn't mean she _was_ bad news. If there was anything that Erin had learned about herself over the last few months, it was that she was strong. And she deserved everything good too.

Erin had promised Hank that she wouldn't look back. But she needed to remember her old life. It was a part of her, and it always would be. Her old life shaped who she was; it gave her strength, showed her what love was, and taught her that she was a force to be reckoned with. Looking back was the most important thing.

* * *

 **Let me know what you think xo**


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